


Pro Patria Mori

by roane



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/pseuds/roane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything soft had to be a trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pro Patria Mori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Provocatrixxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Provocatrixxx/gifts).



> I needed a break from the original stuff I was working on and Provocatrixxx gave me a prompt: Lucas North, the first night he spent in the safehouse. Since her first comment was “Adam/Lucas", I decided to throw in a tiny hint of that too. :)

The noise was wrong. The light was wrong. Even the bed was wrong. MI-5 safehouses weren’t necessarily renowned for their luxury, but the bed was the softest thing Lucas had lain on in eight years. His body refused to relax into it, kept finding ways to resist the lure of anything soft. Anything soft had to be a trap.

If he had to lie here one more moment, he would lose his mind. It was torture in a way the Russians would envy and wish they could emulate.

Lucas rolled over again and tried to close his eyes.

It was no good. Harry Pearce might claim today as a victory, but all Lucas could see was the dead woman with cyanide foam filling her mouth, smiling in defeat. And the burnt-out wreckage of a car on the news. He’d only known Adam Carter for a few hours, but there’d been a click, an easy connection formed over a bag of chips. It was foolish, but in that one exchanged smile Lucas had seen—well, it didn’t matter now.

He sat up and punched his pillow viciously and flopped back down on it. The curtains did absolutely nothing to block the street lamps outside. Street lamps and traffic noises: two more things he would have to get used to again. He was used to the sound of keys rattling, men talking, occasionally yelling, once in a while screaming. Or the sound of nothing at all, just the sound of his own breathing filling the tiny cell of solitary confinement.

That was another thing. This room, this entire safehouse, was too big. Being under the open sky of London had been challenging, all that vast intimidating space over his head, but at least then he’d been with someone, had been on a mission. Now, at nearly half three in the morning, he was alone in a too-big house of strange noises.

He threw back the covers and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. It was a dangerous game to play, coming back to London the way he had. He’d as good as told Harry that he’d agreed to spy for the Russians as a condition of his release, but had Harry understood the truth behind the humor? Kachimoff didn’t trust him fully, or if he did he was a fool. The best he could do was play both sides and see which one came up the winner. Knowing the two men the way he did, his money was on Harry.

But to play either side at all, he needed to rest. It had been over forty-eight hours since he’d last napped, and he could feel the sluggish way his brain was moving.

He scrubbed at his scalp in frustration and eyed the floor. It was worth a try. He hauled his blankets and pillow from the bed and carefully spread them out onto the bare floor. As soon as he lay down, his muscles instantly relaxed against the hard surface. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, then closed his eyes.

Tomorrow was another glorious day of freedom in service to his country.


End file.
